Freeze Frame
by Mentallyconfusedidiot
Summary: (a Nightcrawler fic)The solution to his problem was so simple that it took a few days to settle in his head, like a clear lightbulb. He simply had to eliminate her. But doing so was turning out to be increasingly difficult, but most of all - fun.


_The queens and the court jesters_  
><em>Clapped, adored<em>  
><em>Their hearts swelled to<em>  
><em>Overdrive and mercy soared<em>  
><em>Mercy this and mercy that<em>  
><em>Let justice prevail<em>

- Trophy, Bat for Lashes

* * *

><p>Everything at night seems painted in a dark blue shade. it's another planet here. The hills behind her seem untouched and forgotten. A lizard moving in a static dance across the pavement, the hush of cicadas, more wilderness here than any sign of urban life – maybe it is a mix of both. Silence and darkness of nature creeping in between the seams of the occasional street lamp, swarmed by moths and various insects. The sounds of rats digging through the trash cans, darting into burrows. A motorcyclist is standing by a rest stop on a road circling around a hill, looking out over L.A in the distance.<p>

Waiting.

* * *

><p>"Jesus." Martin Hoff hisses out, almost dropping his camera. He's quite jumpy tonight.<p>

He'd been loading new batteries into it when a rustling in the bushes behind him made him jump. And it's no wonder. The downtown suburban neighborhood in L.A is at daylight a rather dull sight, green lawns and healthy trees barreling against the desert heat. But at night, it's a whole different place. It's a place for carjackers, drug deals and the dredge of the city, and people like Martin – eagerly filming all of it. From a shoot out to a car crash, or a domestic brawl gone wrong. Not that he minds, it's what makes money after all. Usually he doesn't care much to look around outside the lens.

Things move in the shadows that seem to exist only in the split second imagination, or as very real discarded packages in city dumpsters. Packages that smell and move, that ooze and drip of things you don't wanna look at. Sure, There's the so called glamour of L.A. the A-list celebrities, the Hollywood parties, the drugs, the bimbos without their clothes on, the expensive gowns that glitter and distract. How one town can be so mesmerizing and fucked up at the same time is hard to believe. But it's there all the same.

Just like it is there in his boss eyes.

He steps out of the bushes in between two small house lots, silent and quick. An impossibly thin figure, in clothes Hoff always connected with geeky office types, the ones with too many pens in their breast pocket. He's not even looking at Martin though, busy with something already in the back of the van.

"You scared me there." He says to him, breathes in and continues to fix the camera. His boss makes no response..not surprising.

"did you get the shot?" he asks instead. Martin nods absently.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it."

His boss returns to look over his shoulder at the camera Martin is holding. His bony hand clasps his shoulder, in a grip that has martin nervous. It's friendly, he tells himself. The look in his eyes however is not. But he tries not to think about that.

"let me see."

Together they look at the footage. Two youths lying on muddy grass, stabbed and gutted, in the backyard of the house they are standing at. A severed dog's head found near some hastily planted peonies still wet from the garden sprinkler.

"Good. Very good Martin." The boss smiles, grins almost. It's a öoi Martin breathes out a slightly shaky laugh, a relieved sound. The grip on his shoulder is gone and he relaxes. The bad feeling disappears just like that split second thing where shadows are beasts, and it never existed.

"Thanks."

* * *

><p>In nature, when something dies it is not sad, for there is a lot to be gained. The big predators are the first to show up, eat their fill and leave. Then the flies swarm in and lay their eggs, the larvae eating up all the juicy fat underneath the skin until nothing except skeleton and bits of skin are left. Death does not go without attention, it serves it's function to serve others. An accident on the highway is a tragedy – but it is just the same. eyes still go there, cameras are pointed at it, swarming towards it sometimes before even an ambulance can show up. But the eating goes differently, because it doesn't stop, it just keeps moving.<p>

_-Car accident reported on highway 605, San Gabriel river in the right lane. Nearby units please respond.-_

They arrive at the scene, even though it's somewhere around 3 am, there's a husky light at the horizon which almost looks like sunrise. It is of course only the bright lights of hollywood, a tragicomic reminder in the distance of the wreckage. Even though there's a team of 5 surrounding him usually, Lou chooses to only have one along with him while the rest are assigned different sections of the city, not top priority places. He leaves that to himself, naturally.

There was a collision between a food truck and two SUVs – one windshield completely smashed and the driver in pieces on the asphalt. The truck driver is bleeding from the head and getting examined by the ambulance staff. Bits of a navy sweater and blood remains on jagged pieces of glass in the other car, glinting in the camera flashlight – smoke searing from the smashed engine. Like a ghost, Lou moves around the sight and captures it all in minute detail. _Beautiful._ A sudden flash erupts from his left, rendering his eyes temporarily blind. He blinks, moves the camera to that direction. A few yards away, someone is crouching, leaning in towards something on the ground. A dark silhouette that could be anything, do anything. For a moment it looks like something _eating_. Another flash.

"hey." Martins gruff, tired voice calls out. The silhouette moves and snaps their head up, eyes glowing white in the night vision filter, a woman. She gives a little smile and a mock salute aimed at Martin, and bends her head down again. There's a camera in her hands.

"How's your shift going?" she calls back. Her voice is jarringly loud, annoying. She's putting him off his work, his meticulously created image.

"Fine. Fucking tired though, what else is new." Martin says, and the woman laughs in response. Lou taps a finger against his camera, peeved. They're all friends. But he doesn't feel very friendly. He can't see her face.

"Hey Bloom! They just reported an ongoing robbery down the road. One male suspect shot already." Martin shouts from the van, momentarily averting Lous attention. His dark nothingness eyes are starving, speaking for him. The woman leaves quickly after that, her motorcycle a low rumble in the quiet night.


End file.
